


Time in Chicken

by SavageNutella46



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Prompt: Shopping for Presents, everyone is stupid and I love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageNutella46/pseuds/SavageNutella46
Summary: "How's my favorite red-head doing?" The voice startled Carrie a little bit, and she looked up to find Jason Todd staring back at her with a calm expression, leaning an arm on the bright red counter."Great. You come to ask me what my favorite color is, too?" The words pulled a laugh out of the older man, and he shook his head.
Relationships: Carrie Kelley & Damian Wayne, Carrie Kelley & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Carrie Kelly, Selina Kyle & Carrie Kelley, Tim Drake & Carrie Kelley, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21
Collections: Gift Exchange 2020





	Time in Chicken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliebelliegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebelliegirl/gifts).



> it was hard to find shopping in my time of creativity need, but I pushed it in there. Hope you like it, Ellie!

Carrie fidgeted with the collar of her plaid red tie, loosening the uncomfortable digging into the crook of her neck that lingered for the whole day; it felt good to finally experience the physical sense of relief without the impending doom of her after school job once in a while, but, alas, the instance in which this was not one of those days dawned on her.

She sighed and ran a hand through her short hair, absently smiling at the short length as she stepped down the lengthy staircase of Brentwood Academy, footsteps echoing on the solid cement.

It was days like these, the first days of Christmas break, the last few days of the week until Christmas when the snow finally stopped blowing onto the streets and just stayed on the ground, decorating, bringing an unmatchable warmth to her skin despite the freezing temperature of it.

Days she cherished, wished that they would almost freeze in time so she could stand and study them with focusing eyes, stare at them for so long they burned into her brain and she could go back and pick the days apart on stressful weeks.

The bell chimed loudly when she walked into Chicken Whizee, the cashier—Daniel—looked up from his place behind the register and smiled at her, standing up and straightening his obnoxious yellow-red uniform.

"Hey, Carrie. You good if I leave?" She nodded, plastering on a warm smile to her frozen face as she passed him in a haste to get to the heated locker room, and put on her work uniform.

It was kind of stupid, really, her uniform had a big chicken wing plastered on the left side of her mustard yellow shirt, her name tag dangling off the right side with her almost scratched out name—but she did like it, so she continued to show up for work.

She stood behind the register and watched the clock tick down, her shift had just started, and yet it felt like she had been standing here for hours.

The bell chimed again, and she looked up for a split second before turning her attention back to the book she was reading.

"Hey, Dick." If she had been looking, she would been sure that the man was smiling as brightly as he always did when he walked toward her, but she'd just have to imagine for now.

"Carrie! How are you doing?" She turns her gaze back to the older man and feels his contagious smile conflict onto her, sending him a smile of her own.

"Great. You?"

"Awesome, look, I had a question." She raised an eyebrow, a silent gesture to beckon him to continue speaking.

"Favorite colors, go." Carrie sighed, but relented into playing Dick's game.

"Hmm. Green, blue, yellow, maybe?" Dick nodded fervently and walked backwards toward the direction of the smudged glass entrance, waving at her.

"Bye, Carrie!" Carrie waved at him, a small smile painting her features at the obvious change of tone in the air; it felt lighter, less dense with the weight of impending doom.

A costumer came in, followed by two more, and more, until the line tracked back almost to the door. She sighed and turned back to the costumer currently standing in front of her, eyes wandering the menu up above.

"How's my favorite red-head doing?" The voice startled Carrie a little bit, and she looked up to find Jason Todd staring back at her with a calm expression, leaning an arm on the bright red counter.

"Great. You come to ask me what my favorite color is, too?" The words pulled a laugh out of the older man, and he shook his head.

"No, another question, then." She nodded with a raised brow.

"Favorite movie? No—how about, eyesight. Getting better, or worse?" She snickered at such a question, but nodded nonetheless.

"It's quite uncommon for eyesight to get better, so, no. I'd say it got a little worse compared to last year." Jason hummed, and nodded.

"See you, birdie.” Carrie waved, and again the cold draft from the open door wafted down to her features.

An hour or two passed, the average of wandering costumers dwindling down in number, and soon she found herself unbearably bored, until every sound of her own nails tapping on the counter bothered her.

Outside, the soft falling of snow had raged into a storm, beating against the glass windows with a newfound vengeance, as if the snow was begging to get inside and experience the warmth that filtered around her.

“You look dead.” The comforting voice almost floated around her, making the atmosphere of a dead retail service almost bearable.

“Timmy, Timmy, dare so I eat your brains.” Tim snickered, and she looked up to see his little brother standing right next to him, scowling at the floor like it killed his mother.

“Hey, Damian. How you doing?” Damian looked up at Carrie, scowl slightly softening.

“Adequately.” Carrie turned back to Tim and raised an eyebrow.

“All right, here to interrogate me? Or weird me out, like your brothers?” Tim rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, she caught a few words, like “stupid” and “told them not to”. She almost laughed a little.

“So what do you want—“ Damian cut Tim off with a shove to his shoulder and straightened his back even more—if that was possible.

“Come on, Drake it’s obvious.” Damian glared at Carrie, studying her with an intensity she’s only ever seen on the little boy.

“I know exactly what she wants.” Carrie furrowed her eyebrows, Tim following with his own confused expression.

“Alright, but this is the last time I trust you.” Tim and Damian both turned away from her, but not without one last wave from Tim.

“See you, Carrie!” She waved, distracted.

“How would you even know what she wants for Christmas?” Tim asked, unconsciously leaning toward the heater on the dashboard of the car. Damian grunted from the passenger seat and looked outside, the snow slowing down to a slightly softer rage.

The lights outside from different stores mixed together as they sped up on the road, the Gotham City Mall almost in sight.

“It’s obvious. I observed it in her eyes. She wants paint.”

“...I really hate you, you know that?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damian smirk.

Tim sighed and pulled into the parking lot, sparing one last glance at the beat beside him, he got out and leaned against the car until Damian stepped out, slowly, as if Tim would wait all day for him without complaint.

Little Brat.

There they sat, in the mall food court, crowding over a wobbly table dressed in crumbs and soda spills, bickering over one another.

“Now, how about we find a gift for Carrie, now? Since we can’t seem to find one for Bruce...” Dick muttered the last part under his breath, but everyone heard it, anyway.

Jason leaned back in his chair, a smug look painted over his face. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Why do you look so constipated? Spit it out.”

“We get her new glasses.” Tim huffed slapped the table.

“You are just as stupid as everyone else in this food court.”

“Okay, okay, stop arguing. That might be a good idea, Jason.” Dick implored, scratching his chin.

Jason glared at his older brother. “And you thought it would be a good idea to ask what her favorite color is? Big Wing, more like Big Idiot.” Damian smirked as Dick spluttered, face heating up quite visibly.

Tim perked up and slapped Damian on the shoulder in his haste to stand up, the latter grunting and glaring at him with annoyance, only to be ignored by his brother. “I’ve got an idea.”

They met up at the H&M, because of the subconsciously safe feeling the monotone colors gave you.

“I’ve got the colored glasses for Carrie.” Jason’s muffled voice sounded, the man ruffling through a rack of fluffy black sweaters with the words, “NEW YEAR, BETTER BEER” on the front.

“I’ve got something for Selina, though it isn’t stolen.” Damian and Tim turned to Dick, who shifted uncomfortably in his place next to the racks.

“I’ve got a blue-eyed orphan for Bruce.” He held up Harper Row’s hand, the girl with purple-blue hair glaring at him as he tried not to laugh.

“You idiot, Bruce already knows Harper.” Jason pulled the sweater off the rack and examined it, then shoving it into Tim’s face.

“You think Roy would like that?” Tim blinked.

“Sure.”

Harper sighed, crossing her arms. “Seriously, guys? You actually got Carrie glasses?” Jason turned to her, offended.

“She needs new ones.” Harper rolled her eyes and yanked the black sweater out of Jason’s hand to examine it.

“No, she does not. Also, this is good for Roy.”Jason pulled the sweater back, muttering too lowly for anyone to hear, though Harper was sure he was cursing her.

Selina Kyle walked into the Chicken Whizee, looking so out of place it almost hurt to see the magnificent woman in such a dirty, grimy chain fast food place.

Her heels clicked on the tile, eyes watching Carrie with meticulous focus as she approached the counter in which Carrie was absentmindedly reading a TIME magazine.

“Ready to go, Kitten?” Carrie nodded, smiling. She had changed into a deep maroon sweater five minutes after her shift ended and resorted to passing the time in colorful images and resourceful news.

Carrie stepped into Selina’s flavorful ride, settling down on the heated leather seat. Her muscles felt sore, neck straining from several hours of looking up and down too quickly.

It was a comfortable silence as Selina drove. Carrie watched the white snow fall in blurry smears to the ground, calmer than when her shift had started.

“I really need new glasses.” Selina hummed from beside her.

”You really do.”


End file.
